Under the Tuscan Sun

by Frances Mayes

  On New Year's Eve, I am coming home from town with a carload of groceries. We're cooking the traditional lentils (tiny coin shapes are the symbol of prosperity) and zampone, sausage in the shape of a pig's foot. As I climb the road toward home, I pass the dome of Santa Maria Nuova below me. Fog completely surrounds the church and the dome floats above the clouds. Five intersecting rainbows dive and arch around the dome. I almost run off the road. At the curve, I stop and get out, wishing everyone were with me. This is staggering. If it were the Middle Ages, I'd claim a miracle. Another car stops and a man dressed in fancy hunting clothes jumps out. Probably he is one of the murderers of song birds but he, too, looks stunned. We both just stare. As the clouds shift, the rainbows disappear one by one but the dome still drifts, ready for any sign that might be about to happen. I wave to the hunter. “Auguri,” he calls.

  BEFORE ASHLEY AND JESS GO BACK TO NEW YORK, where serious winter waits to kick in, and before we go back to San Francisco, where paper-white narcissi already are blooming in Golden Gate Park, we plant the Christmas tree. I expect the ground to be hard but it is not. Loamy and rich, it yields to the shovel. As Jess shovels dirt, the white skull of a hedgehog turns up with its perfectly articulated jaw and teeth still attached by a string of ligament. Memento mori, a useful thought as the end of one year folds into the new. The sturdy tree looks immediately at home on the lower terrace. As it grows it will tower over the road below. From the upstairs, we'll see its peak growing higher and higher each year. If the rains these first few years are plentiful, in fifty years it may be the giant tree of the hillside. Ashley, old by then, may remember planting it. Because she is flush with beauty, I can't imagine her old. She will come with her friends or family, all of whom will marvel. Or strangers who own the house may take its lower limbs for firewood. Surely Bramasole will still be here, with the olives we've planted thriving on the terraces.

  Winter Kitchen

  Notes

  CIBO, FOOD, A BASIC WORD. I'M GATHERING a bag of cibo to take back to California with me. I'm not sure exactly when my carry-on bag became a grocery bag in disguise. Besides olive oil (each of us carries back two liters), I take tubes of those pastes that are marvelous for quick hors d'oeuvres: white truffle, caper, olive, and garlic. They're very inexpensive here and easy to transport. I take boxes of funghi porcini bouillon cubes, which I can't get at home, and a pound or so of dried porcini. The bright boxes and foil bags of Perugina chocolates make handy gifts. I would like to take a wheel of parmigiano but my bag is not that accommodating. This time I'm stuffing in a truffle-flavored vinegar and a good aceto balsamico. I notice that Ed has added a bottle of grappa to the bag, as well as a jar of chestnut honey.

  To the question “Are you carrying any food items?” on the customs form, I must answer yes. As long as products are sealed, no one seems to care. A friend who had special sausages from his hometown of Ferrara stuffed in his raincoat pockets was sniffed by airport beagles and stripped of his heirlooms.

  The only kitchen item I usually bring with me to Italy is plastic wrap; the Italian kind always gets off to a bad start, leaving me untangling a two-inch strip. This time, however, I have brought one bag of Georgia pecans and a can of cane syrup, pecan pie being a necessary ingredient of Christmas. All the other ingredients of Christmas in Tuscany seem new. One pleasure of the cook is that now and then you learn all over again.

  Winter food here recalls the hunter stepping in the door with his jacket pockets filled with birds, the farmer bringing in the olive harvest and beginning the cold-weather work of clearing and preparing the trees, trimming back vines for spring. Tuscan food of this season calls for massive appetites. For us, long walks build us up to the hefty dishes that we order in trattorie: pasta with wild boar ragù, lepre, hare, fried mushrooms, and polenta. The rich smells drifting from our kitchen are different in winter. The light summer fragrances of basil, lemon balm, and tomatoes are replaced by aromas of succulent pork roast glazed with honey, guinea hens roasting under a layer of pancetta, and ribollita, that heartiest of soups. Subtle and earthy, the fine shavings of Umbrian truffle over a bowl of pasta prick the senses. At breakfast, the perfumed melons of summer are forgotten and we use leftover bread for slabs of French toast spread with plum jam I made last summer from the delicate coscia di monaca, nun's thigh, variety that grows along the back of the house. The eggs always startle me; they're so yellow. The freshness does make a tremendous difference, so that a platter of eggs scrambled with a big dollop of mascarpone becomes a very special treat.

  I didn't anticipate the extent of the excitement of cooking in winter: The entire shopping list is changed by the cold season. In winter here, there are no asparagus from Peru, no grapes from Chile. What's available, primarily, is what grows, though citrus comes up from the south and Sicily. A mound of tiny orange clementines, bright as ornaments, shines in a blue bowl on the windowsill. Ed eats two or three at a time, tossing the peels into the fire, where they blacken and shrivel, sending out the pungent scent of their burning oil. Because the days are so short, the evening dinners are long, and long prepared for.

  ~ANTIPASTI~

  Winter Bruschette

  Crostini, the antipasti that appear on every menu in Tuscany, and bruschette are both pieces of bread onto which various toppings are piled or spread. The crostiniare rounds of bread; the baguette-shaped loaves are sold at the forno. A typical platter of crostini includes several choices; crostini di fegatini, chicken liver spread, is the most popular. I often serve crostini with garlic paste and a grilled shrimp on each. Bruschette are made from regular bread, sliced, dipped quickly in olive oil, grilled or broiled, then rubbed with a clove of garlic. In summer, topped with chopped tomatoes and basil, it appears frequently as a first course or snack. Winter's robust bruschette are fun to prepare at the fireplace. When friends stop in, we open a hefty vino nobile.

  Bruschette with Pecorino and Nuts

  ~Prepare bruschette as described above. For each bruschetta, slowly melt a slice of pecorino (or fontina) in a pan on hot coals or on the stove. When slightly melted, sprinkle chopped walnuts over the cheese. With a spatula, slide the cheese onto the grilled bread.

  Bruschette with Pecorino and Prosciutto

  ~Prepare bruschette. In an iron skillet over the coals or in a nonstick pan on the stove, slightly melt slices of pecorino, top with prosciutto, then another slice of pecorino. Flip over so that both sides melt and are crisp around the edges. Slide onto bread.

  Bruschette with Greens

  ~Chop cavolo nero, black cabbage (or Swiss chard). Season and sauté in olive oil with 2 cloves of minced garlic. Spread 1 or 2 tablespoons on each bruschetta.

  Bruschette con Pesto di Rucola

  This variation on the standard pesto is equally good with pasta. Arugula is satisfying to grow. It sprouts quickly and the young peppery leaves are best. By the time the leaves are large, the taste usually turns bitter.

  ~Prepare bruschette, this time cutting the bread into small pieces. In a food processor or mortar, combine a bunch of arugula, salt and pepper, 2 cloves of garlic, and ¼ cup of pine nuts. Blend together, then slowly incorporate enough olive oil to make a thick paste. Add ½ cup of grated parmigiano. Spread on grilled bread. Makes about 1-½ cups.

  Bruschette with Grilled Eggplant

  I've often burned eggplant on the grill—by the time it's done it's black—so now I bake the whole eggplant in the oven for about 20 minutes, then slice it and, for taste, just finish it off on the grill.

  ~Bake an eggplant on a piece of foil in a moderate oven until it is almost done. Slice and salt. Let rest on paper towels for a few minutes. Brush each slice lightly with olive oil, sprinkle with pepper, and grill. Chop ½ cup of fresh parsley, mix with some chopped fresh thyme and marjoram. Lightly brush the eggplant with oil again if it looks dry. Place a slice on a piece of prepared bruschetta, sprinkle with some of the herb mixture and a little grated pecorino or parmigiano. Heat briefly in the broiler to melt cheese slightly.
/>
  ~PRIMI PIATTI~

  Wild Mushroom Lasagna

  Dried lasagna in boxes leaves me cold—those wavy edges like tractor tires, the gummy pasta. Thin sheets of fresh pasta create a light, light lasagna. I watched a real pro with pasta in a local shop. Hers is thin as a bedsheet and supple. In summer, this recipe works well with vegetables instead of mushrooms: sliced zucchini, tomatoes, onions, and eggplant, seasoned with fresh herbs. Both recipes can be used as a filling for long, rolled crespelle,crÊpes, as well.

  ~Cut sheets of pasta to fit 6 layers in a large baking dish. (Some of the middle layers can be in more than 1 piece.) Prepare a béchamel sauce: Melt 4 tablespoons of butter. Stir in 4 tablespoons of flour, and cook but do not brown. After 3 or 4 minutes, remove from heat and whisk in 2 cups of milk all at once. Return to heat, stir and simmer until the sauce thickens. Mince 3 cloves of garlic and add it to the sauce, along with 1 tablespoon of chopped thyme, salt and pepper. Grate 1-½ cups of parmigiano. In a large pan, heat 2 tablespoons of olive oil or butter and sauté 3 cups of sliced fresh mushrooms—preferably porcini or portobello. If you don't have wild mushrooms, use a mixture of button mushrooms and dried porcini that have been revived by soaking them for 30 minutes in stock, water, wine, or cognac.

  Assembly: Cook 1 sheet of pasta until it is barely done, remove it from the boiling water, and let it briefly drain on a cloth towel spread on the counter. Place the semidry pasta sheet in the lightly oiled baking dish and cover it with a layer of béchamel sauce, a layer of sautéed mushrooms, and a sprinkling of the cheese. Continue cooking the next pasta sheet as you prepare each layer. Add a spoonful or two of the pasta water to the sauce if you've used too much on the first layers. Tuscan cooks usually use some of the pasta water in their sauces. Top the dish with buttered bread crumbs and more parmigiano. Bake, uncovered, at 350° for 30 minutes. Serves 8.

  Ribollita

  A thick, soul-stirring soup with white beans, the ubiquitous bread, and vegetables. As the translation “reboiled” indicates, this is a soup that is easily made using leftovers, probably from a big Sunday dinner. The classic recipe calls for hunks of bread to be added to the pot at the end. Tuscans pour oil into each bowl at the table. The soup, with a salad, is a complete meal—unless you've been out plowing. Almost any vegetable can be used. If I say “zuppa” to Maria Rita, she piles in everything I'll need, plus handfuls of fresh parsley, basil, and garlic. I take her advice to include the heel of the parmigiano. Once cooked, the softened heel is the cook's treat.

  ~Prepare a pound of white beans by washing them well. Cover with water in a stock pot and bring them to a boil. Take them off the heat and let them sit in the water for a couple of hours. Add more water to cover, add seasonings, and simmer until barely done. They should be watched because they tend to become mushy soon after they're done. Clean and cut into medium dice: 2 onions, 6 carrots, 4 ribs of celery, a bunch of curly cabbage or chard, 4 or 5 cloves of garlic, and 5 large tomatoes (or a box of chopped tomatoes in winter). Mince a bunch of parsley. Sauté the onions and carrots in olive oil. After a few minutes, add the celery, then the chard and the garlic, adding more oil as needed. Cook 10 minutes, then add the tomatoes, a heel of parmigiano, and the beans. Add enough stock (vegetable, chicken, or meat) to cover. Bring to a boil, then simmer 1 hour to blend flavors. Add the cubes of bread. Allow to rest for several hours. Add the parsley, reheat, and serve with grated parmigiano on top and olive oil to pass around the table. Leftover pasta, green beans, peas, pancetta, and potatoes all can be added to the pot the next day. At least 15 servings, depending on the amount of stock used.

  Pici with Quick Tomato-Cream Sauce

  Hearty sauces of hare and boar adhere especially well to the long, thick strands of this local pasta, which is almost as thick as a pencil. I use this sauce on fusilli and pappardelle or any broad pasta. This is a favorite.

  ~Cook 4 or 5 slices of pancetta, drain on paper towels, then crumble and set aside. Chop 2 medium onions and 2 or 3 cloves of garlic and sauté in olive oil for 5 minutes. Chop and add 1 large red pepper and 4 or 5 tomatoes. Season and cook 5 minutes more. Season with chopped thyme, oregano, and basil. Stir in ½ cup of light cream and ¾ cup of puréed tomatoes. Add a spoonful or so of the pasta water to the sauce. Stir the pancetta into the sauce at the last minute to retain crispness. Cook and drain enough pasta for 4. Mix the pasta with half the sauce; serve the rest of the sauce over the pasta. Pass the parmigiano! Serves 4.

  ~SECONDI~

  Quail, Slowly Braised with Juniper Berries and Pancetta

  My father was a hunter and our cook, Willie Bell, often was lost in a cloud of tiny feathers as she plucked a mound of quail. The drooping little heads all fell in the same direction. I wouldn't eat them, even after she smothered them with cream and pepper in the huge covered frying pan on the outdoor fireplace. With more equanimity, I've met them in a new guise. The balsamic vinegar should come from Modena. Those that are labeled Aceto Balsamico Tradizionale di Modena and are marked API MO are the real thing, aged for at least twelve years. Some of the ancient balsamics are so fine that they're sipped like liqueur. I think Willie Bell would approve of these quail.

  ~Flour and quickly brown 12 quail (2 per person) in hot olive oil. Arrange the quail in a heavy casserole with a tight-fitting lid and pour in ¼ cup of balsamic vinegar. Cover quail with strips of pancetta and 2 minced shallots. Sprinkle with sprigs of thyme, crushed peppercorns, and juniper berries. Braise in a slow oven (275°) for 3 hours. Turn the quail over after about an hour and a half. Moisten with a little red wine or more balsamic vinegar if they look dry. They are excellent served with polenta. Serves 6.

  Roast Chickens Stuffed with Polenta

  In Georgia when I was growing up, the Christmas turkey always was stuffed with a cornmeal dressing. This adaptation of my mother's recipe uses Italian ingredients.

  ~Soak 2 cups of polenta in 2 cups of cold water for 10 minutes, then add it to 2 cups of boiling water in a stock pot. Bring to a boil, then lower the heat and cook, stirring constantly, for 10minutes. Stir in 1 cup of butter. Remove from the heat and beat in 2 eggs. Add 2 cups of fresh croutons, 2 chopped onions, 3ribs of chopped celery, and season generously with salt, pepper, sage, thyme, and marjoram. Stuff 2 chickens (or 1 turkey) loosely, tie the legs together, and scatter sprigs of thyme over the birds. Roast on oiled racks in a large pan. 25 minutes a pound at 350°is a rough estimate for the perfectly roasted bird—but start testing sooner. Leftover stuffing can be baked separately in a buttered dish. Serves 8.

  Faraone (Guinea Hens) with Fennel

  Delicate and flavorful, guinea hens are always available at the butcher. For Christmas, we roasted two and presented them on a large platter, surrounded by grilled local sausages and a wreath of herbs. The bones made a rich stock for soup the next day. Oven-roasted potatoes with rosemary and garlic are a natural companion.

  ~I'm afraid the faraone must first be approached with tweezers to remove remaining pin feathers. Wash and dry 2 birds well. Simplest preparation is best—the flavor of the bird is emphasized. Lay rosemary branches on an oiled roasting pan and place the birds on top. Rub with a mixture of chopped rosemary, basil, and thyme, then lard with strips of pancetta. Remove the tough outer portions of 2 fennel bulbs. Cut in half-inch crescents, drizzle with olive oil, and scatter them around the birds, along with a couple of quartered onions. Roast at 350° at 20 minutes per pound. These birds are leaner than chickens; be careful not to overcook. For a rich sauce, add béchamel sauce (see recipe) roasted chestnuts to the pan juices. Serves 4.

  Rabbit with Tomatoes and Balsamic Vinegar

  Coniglio, rabbit, is a staple of the Tuscan diet. At the Saturday market, a farm woman usually has three or four fluffy bunnies looking up at you from an old Alitalia flight bag. In the butcher's case, they're more remote, clean and lean, ruddy pink, sometimes with a bit of fur left on the tail to prove it's not cat. Unappetizing as this note is, the rabbit, simmered in thick tomato sauce with herbs, is delightful. Just
call it coniglio for the children's sake.

  ~Have the rabbit cut into pieces. Flour them and quickly brown in olive oil. Arrange in a baking dish and cover with the following tomato-balsamic sauce. Sauté 1 large chopped onion and 3 or 4 cloves of minced garlic until translucent. Chop 4 or 5 tomatoes and add them to the pan. Season with ½ teaspoon of turmeric, rosemary, salt, pepper, and toasted fennel seeds. Stir in 4 tablespoons of balsamic vinegar and simmer until sauce is thick and reduced. Roast the rabbit, uncovered, for about 40 minutes in a 350° oven. Midway, baste with 2 to 3 tablespoons of additional balsamic vinegar. Serves 4.

  Polenta with Sausage and Fontina

  In winter, the local fresh pasta shop sells polenta with chopped walnuts, a simple but interesting accompaniment to roasts or chicken. The polenta and sausages, with a grand salad, is a robust meal in itself.

  ~Prepare classic polenta (see recipe). Pour half of the polenta into an oiled baking dish. Thinly slice or grate 1-½ cups of Fontina and spread over the layer of polenta. Season with salt and pepper. Pour on the rest of the polenta. Slice 6 sautéed Italian sausages over the top and pour on the pan juices. Bake for 15 minutes at 300°. Serves 6.

  Honey-Glazed Pork Tenderloin with Fennel

  The tenderest, leanest pork is the tenderloin. One tenderloin serves two hungry people and the fennel pairs well with the pork. Wild fennel grows all over our land. Whether its local popularity first came from its aphrodisiacal powers or its curative uses for eye problems, I don't know. I like its feathery foliage and its mythic connections. Prometheus is said to have brought the first fire to humans inside the thick, hollow stalk.